Then you throw away the skin
Which is just like a four-sepalled calyx,
After you have taken off the blossom with your lips.
But the vulgar way
Is just to put your mouth on the crack, and take out the flesh in one bite.
(From Figs by D.H. Lawrence)
Figs are mysterious. A black teardrop with a dirty secret. Little orbs with a musty aroma and a strange but lovely flavor. They are the sex bomb of the fruit world. They also happen to be my secret weapon when I have a summer party.
We used to live in a house with a big fig tree. Our first year there, I was so excited to see the little green nubs appear early in the spring and watch them grow for many months until, around the end of July, the tree exploded with black, heavy, ripe fruit. In the span of a few days I had dozens of figs in the kitchen and I wasn’t sure what to do with them. Even though I loved cooking and baking, I had never eaten a raw fig. I was intimidated, but excited to
fig-ure it out. (See what I did there?)
One day, Kirsten and a few other friends were coming over for a late afternoon hang out. I was going to cut up a few figs and put them on a cheese platter, but there were so many of them. I ended up quartering a bunch of those little beauties, putting them on a plate, crumbling blue cheese on top, drizzling honey over and topping them with some chopped pistachios. Fig hash was born! It was a huge hit. People would invite me over and then sheepishly ask if I could bring fig hash. Or, when I had friends over and the fig hash came out they would say, “Ohhh, we were hoping you were making that!” When we moved, we passed the recipe on to the new owners as sort of a legacy.
A platter of fig hash is not a dainty plate of crudité. It’s more like a gorgeous, sexy mess of sticky deliciousness. You could pass appetizer plates and forks and dish it up, but we normally open a bottle of rosé or sauvignon blanc, sit outside and dig in with our hands like savages.
When we moved into our new house a year ago, one of the first things we did was plant a fig tree. Just a few days ago, we got our first ripe fig. I could eat it in the proper way, splitting it in four, delicately tasting its glittering, rosy honey. But I think I will put my mouth on the crack and take out the flesh in one bite, the vulgar way.
2 baskets of fresh figs (green or black, about 12-15 figs)
3 oz. blue cheese, crumbled
Honey (about 2 TBSP)
2 TBSP roasted unsalted pistachios, chopped
Quarter the figs and put them on a platter. Sprinkle the blue cheese over the figs, drizzle with honey and top with the pistachios. Eat properly or vulgarly – your choice.